


I will love with urgency but not with haste

by HybridComplex



Category: Prometheus (2012)
Genre: F/F, Gen, Genderbend, aw yiss, i really hope this isnt horrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-19 21:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HybridComplex/pseuds/HybridComplex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Millburn first saw her when they were both puking into buckets, limbs still cryo-cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I will love with urgency but not with haste

**Author's Note:**

> title from the song "Not With Haste" by Mumford & Sons

Her name is Fifield and half her head is shaved and she looks like she could crush diamond between her teeth and Millburn thinks she may already be in love. Her voice is made of silk with a rough edge like the side of a cliff and Millburn wants nothing more than to feel it against her skin, her mouth. She doesn’t hide it, lazily dragging her eyes from the wild red mohawk to the trail of tattoos spanning from scalp to fingers, down the slope of her neck and over the sharp lines of her collarbones. Her tank top is baggy and worn and Millburn’s cheeks go pink because there are no bra straps in sight.  
  
Fifield bares her teeth aggressively and Millburn flushes darker but the rough dismissal that follows stings behind her collarbone, slows the beat of her heart until it’s painful and sluggish from rejection. She swallows it down, lets it settle heavy along the walls of her stomach, takes a breath that would have lasted years if not for the beckoning of their superiors.  
  
Millburn is a giant of a woman and Fifield wants to find a way to wrap herself around every inch of her, wants to tug on ears and hair and lick those stupid glasses and see what she looks like beneath what seems to be a dozen layers. She still tries to push her away, growls around the tightness of her throat and jump of her pulse and tries not to react to the dullness that twists through Millburn’s eyes, the backward press of her wide shoulders.  
  
They hardly make it to their cabin before she can’t stand it anymore, tucks her fingers under Millburn’s shirt to feel the warmth of her skin, presses up close to nose the line of her throat, apologizes in a whisper with too many dropped letters for anyone else to accept it, but Millburn’s fingers drag across her scalp, callouses catching on thin scars from nicking herself, pushing the barely-there stubble against the grain.  
  
She pushes into it, slides her whole hand up Millburn shirt and laughs when her fingers meet the silky bow on her bra strap. Millburn laughs too and lets her whole weight fall against Fifield because she knows she can take it, doesn’t even mind when her glasses clatter onto the floor as they tumble back onto one of the beds. She hasn’t felt this good since well before accepting the request to join the expedition and she doesn’t know what this is but she hopes it’s something that will last.  
  
Hopes Fifield is someone she can keep and work with and live with and maybe someday marry in a courthouse somewhere in jeans and t-shirts or pyjamas (and spend the rest of her days trying to get her into a dress).


End file.
